


the ones we used to talk about

by blazeofglory



Series: live a life from a new perspective [5]
Category: Not Another D&D Podcast (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Rock Band, Childhood Friends, Friends With Benefits, Growing Up, M/M, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-30
Updated: 2020-09-30
Packaged: 2021-03-08 01:55:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26737729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blazeofglory/pseuds/blazeofglory
Summary: Two best friends through the years, learning to play guitar and write lyrics and kiss and dream.They're gonna make it big someday, even if it's not together.
Relationships: Mavrus/Tred Nevers
Series: live a life from a new perspective [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1888468
Comments: 20
Kudos: 25





	the ones we used to talk about

**Author's Note:**

> for Remi. 
> 
> _"I'm living my dreams right now, the ones we used to talk about,"_ —Sidewalk Chalk by Annalise Emerick.

“I like the way things are,” Mavrus whines. Tred handles the lyrics and the singing, while Mavrus plays the guitar—once in a while, Tred will play guitar while Mavrus sings, but they _always_ use Tred’s lyrics. They only really play at open mic nights, and their only fans are their friends—they’d probably get a little more attention if they played covers, but Tred _refuses_. “This is boring, I don’t have anything to write about.” 

“I think you’ll like writing once you start! You just have to write from the soul,” Tred says, fiddling with the cover of his moleskine where it lays on the table. “You know, stuff that makes you feel strongly, dude.” 

“Like sex?” Mavrus asks, brows furrowed. There’s a notebook open in front of him—but unlike Tred’s bursting at the seams, Mavrus’s is completely empty. There’s still a sticky spot on the front cover where he peeled off the price tag this morning. “That’s a pretty strong feeling.” 

Tred rolls his eyes. “That _could_ work. Or you could write about like... how angry your dad makes you? How you feel about, y’know, leaving us behind when you go to college?” 

“That shit is _depressing_ ,” Mavrus replies with a huff; he crosses his arms, glaring across the table at Tred. They’re set up at the wobbly old dining room table at the beach house, only inside because it’s raining out—the rest of the guys are in the other room, bickering animatedly over a puzzle. “I don’t wanna write something sad as hell. You’re good at that kinda stuff, but I wanna write something _fun_.” 

“So write about love or friendship or something like that. You could write about me!” Tred bursts out, then blushes immediately. 

“I _could_ write about you,” Mavrus says casually, grinning as he flips open his notebook again. “You’re fun.” 

“Thanks,” Tred says softly, looking down at his own moleskine and hoping Mavrus doesn’t notice his blush. “I’ve written about you like... a hundred times.” 

Mavrus looks back up, brow raised. “Are any of your songs about sex?” 

“Maybe,” Tred replies, unable to hold back a telling smile. Of course he’s written songs about sex—when you’re having sex with someone as hot as Mavrus, it’s easy to get inspired. But he doesn’t sing those songs, just like he doesn’t sing the songs about being in love. They’re too embarrassing, they reveal too much—somehow the sad stuff feels less vulnerable. 

Mavrus grins like he can see right through Tred, and then he picks up his pencil, flips open his notebook, and starts scribbling down words. 

* * *

“We’re gonna make it big,” Tred says, breathless, titling his head back as Mavrus kisses his neck. “Can’t you picture it? You and me on stage and the crowd _cheering_ , begging for an encore...” 

“Yeah,” Mavrus whispers, then nips at Tred’s skin, and Tred moans softly. “You and me, we’re gonna make it.” 

Though Tred talks a big game, he still has doubts—but maybe they _will_ make it big, if they ever make it out of this town. He dreams about it, about the two of them and the other guys all leaving together, setting off, finding some far-off city where they can really make names for themselves. And Tred wants his and Mavrus’s names to always go together—best friends, sometimes lovers, musical duo that’s gonna take off someday. 

Pipe dreams, of course. They’re not all leaving together. No, Carl and Mavrus are leaving for college, and Tred and Dave and Mac are staying put. Tred has a job at a craft store, and that’s… it’s gonna be fine. He’s focusing on his music, mostly, and after a year or two of work, he can move out of his mom’s basement and maybe follow Mavrus to Gladeholm, and then someday... 

_Someday_ , they’re gonna fuckin’ make it, Tred _knows_ it. They’re too good _not_ to. They won’t be able to make much music for the next couple of years while Mavrus is in school, but someday, they’re gonna make music again and the world is gonna wanna hear it. 

They’ve been trying to make as much music together as they can this summer, before Mavrus leaves—but not right now. Tred’s moleskine has been tossed aside and Mavrus’s guitar put away, and the only noises now are the soft, breathy moans Tred makes as Mavrus sucks bruises into his skin. For the next few years, they won’t have much of this at all, but someday, they’ll have _everything_. 

And for now, at least, they can still hold each other close and kiss like the world is ending. 

* * *

They’re not boyfriends and they never have been; Tred is well aware of this. They’re still friends, though, even though they talk less these days. It’s been a few years now since Mavrus left, and he doesn’t come visit often—Gladeholm is pretty far from home, after all. They see each other a couple times a year and they always pick up like no time has passed at all—they laugh and they drink and they make music and they fuck, and it’s always _good_. 

Tred still misses Mavrus a lot, but he’s doing alright on his own. He’s a solo act for now, and it suits him just fine. He’s been playing a lot of open mic nights again lately, and people are finally starting to _notice_ him, in the way he’s always wanted people to notice him. Dave and Mac still come to all his performances, and they always cheer the loudest, and even though it feels disloyal to even think it, they’ve gotten used to being just the three of them, rather than the five that they used to be. 

A while back, Mavrus mentioned that he joined a band, and that they played at dive bars sometimes. He mentioned it so _casually_ , in the group chat, like that wasn’t information that would ruin Tred’s week. Like he didn’t even _care_ about the future Tred thought they had envisioned together—their names in lights, _together_ , that dream of someday that Tred had naively clung to. 

But Tred is over it. He’s not _jealous_ , and he’s not sad. He just wants to see this band play. 

Tred finds a Facebook event for a show The Two Crew is playing, and Tred buys a train ticket to Gladeholm—he calls Carl, who agrees to go with him and let Tred crash at his place for a few days. Carl’s always been better at staying in touch and coming home to visit than Mavrus; when it comes down to it, Carl’s always been more reliable, more solid. He’s always been a better friend, even though Mavrus is Tred’s _best friend_. Or—he used to be. Tred isn’t going to dwell on that train of thought. 

When they get to the address, they find it’s more of a club than a dive bar—nicer than Mavrus had made it sound—and the sight of the band on stage takes Tred’s breath away. 

There’s a woman in overalls standing center stage, singing her heart out—her red hair is in a loose ponytail, several strands falling around her face, and her eyeliner is smudged, and something about the way she’s swaying, the way she’s singing, makes it pretty fucking clear that this is the most confident person Tred has ever seen in his life. To her left is a boy with messy hair and a wide grin who looks about 18, playing the keyboard, and next to him is a middle-aged man playing bass with a really focused look on his face. In the back, there’s a drummer—and he’s _hot_. Even in the low lights of the club, his skin looks tan, and his hair is pulled up into a messy bun and his biceps are _insane_ and his hands are moving fast as he plays—he’d be pretty fucking mesmerizing to watch if Tred’s gaze wasn’t already sliding over to Mavrus. 

On the right side of the stage, Mavrus is playing his bright red electric guitar, and there’s a microphone in front of him too—he’s not singing right now, but Tred thinks he might at some point. It’s been so _long_ since he’s heard Mavrus sing, he can’t help but want to hear it again, even as his heart _aches_ as he watches Mavrus up on stage without Tred. He looks good up there—he _always_ looks good, but _god_ , he looks so alive on stage. He looks so _happy,_ up there with strangers, making music that’s nothing like the music he once made with Tred.

But that’s _fine_! Tred’s a solo act now! 

“They’re really good,” Carl says, loud enough to be heard over the music and the crowd, bumping Tred’s arm gently. “You okay?” 

“He didn’t tell us they were this good,” Tred replies instead of answering, and Carl nods, like he understands exactly what Tred means. 

After a couple of songs, the band takes a break—they disappear backstage for a few minutes, before a couple of them appear again and head for the bar: the woman, the drummer, and Mavrus. A few people talk to them as they walk through the crowd, but they all look like friends—looks they’re not popular enough to have groupies yet. Tred stands on his tiptoes to watch them through the crowd from a distance, taking in the sight of Mavrus’s tight leather pants and his stupidly hot mesh shirt, and—and Mavrus’s hand, fingers intertwined with the drummer’s. 

He watches, heart suddenly racing, as Mavrus turns to smile wide at the drummer, and then the drummer leans in and—and they both stop walking for a second as they kiss. Their friend stops too, laughing as she swats the drummer on the arm—he and Mavrus break apart, both laughing too, and then they all make their way to the bar. 

It’s easier to watch them now, since Tred and Carl are so close to the bar. Mavrus could glance over here at any second and notice them, and Tred wants that just as much as he dreads it. The drummer slings an arm around Mavrus’s shoulder and Mavrus leans into it without hesitation, like this is something they do all the time. They look like boyfriends. 

Mavrus doesn’t _do_ boyfriends. But here he is, in a band with this guy, cuddled up to him in public. 

Mavrus never once held Tred’s hand. 

But that doesn’t matter. This is fine. They’re _friends_. Nothing has changed, not really—so what that Mavrus has a boyfriend that he didn’t tell Tred about? They haven’t seen each other since last winter, when Mavrus had only been in town for a few days and they mostly spent it with the group of guys and only hooked up once—a lot of time has passed since then. Plenty of time for Mavrus to find a new band. A new boy. 

They’re still gonna make it big, Tred thinks. It can still happen. Mavrus is so talented and charismatic, and Tred is self-aware enough to know that he is too—they’re both gonna make it. Just… not together, apparently. And that’s fine. 

“How’s my hair?” Tred asks Carl, who’s been quietly observing the medley of emotions playing over Tred’s face. 

Carl reaches out, adjusting a piece of hair, then offers Tred a reassuring smile. “Looks good, man. Want me to go over with you, or do you want to see him alone first?” 

Tred glances over at the trio again, heart in his throat as he watches them all laughing together. 

“Yeah, please come with me,” Tred says, and Carl nods. 

“You okay?” Carl asks again, concern in his eyes. Tred wonders for a second how much Carl knows about him and Mavrus—they had never exactly explained their best friends with benefits situation to their friends, because Tred figures they all already know about it—but now Tred wonders if Carl knows the _rest_. Tred’s _feelings_. He probably does—Carl is perceptive and Tred wears his heart on his sleeve. 

It’s probably been pretty obvious why Tred’s been writing lovesick songs for years. 

“Not really, man,” Tred admits, letting out a quiet sigh. “He—who _is_ that guy? Why didn’t Mav tell me? Did he tell you?” 

Carl shakes his head. “No, he didn’t tell me. You know Mav, he’s… bad at communicating.” 

“Yeah, no shit,” Tred grumbles. “Let’s go talk to him.” 

They make their way to the other side of the bar, and Mavrus doesn’t spot them, even though they’re close enough now for Tred to see the faded hickey on Mavrus’s neck. Tred exchanges a glance with Carl, who nods at him again. Tred breathes out slowly, pushing all his jealousies aside as he reminds himself that he should just be glad to see his friend again. 

“Hey, Mavrus!” Tred calls out, and he watches as Mavrus’s eyes snap up as he spots Tred and Carl, instantly grinning. “We came to see you play!” 

  
  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  


“I still think pottery might be easier for our art credit,” Tred says as they take seats in the back of the room. It’s still just the first week of freshman year, so they have plenty of time to change their schedules if they want to—they don’t have to be stuck with this music class. 

Mavrus shrugs, slouching down in his chair. “I dunno, dude, when am I ever gonna need to know how to make a pot?” 

“When are you ever gonna need to know how to play an instrument?” Tred counters. 

“Guitars are kinda cool,” Mavrus replies, unfazed. He grins, raising his eyebrows at Tred. “Girls like ‘em.” 

“Who cares about what girls like?” 

Mavrus shrugs again. 

“If this sucks, I’m gonna drop the class,” Tred says, sighing in resignation. 

“It’s not gonna suck,” Mavrus says confidently. He stretches his leg out, knocking his foot against Tred’s as he smiles, and Tred doesn’t really know why his heart skips a beat. “Stay for me. It’s gonna be fun.” 

“Fine,” Tred finally gives in. “Just for you.” 

Mavrus hops up and heads over to the front of the classroom, where a bunch of other students are poking around an assortment of instruments, and a minute later, he returns, holding out a battered old guitar. 

Tred takes it with a smile. 


End file.
